The Story of Us
by TheOnyxDragon12
Summary: "If and when the Dragon flies, time collides and the Eldest survives. Through Hell and Frost the duo will rein, while the Scarred gains fame to his name. The Dead will resurrect, his mother soon to expect. The Soldier will fight in a dire time of need & the Apprentice will accomplish many great deeds. If the serpent is slain, lives are saved. If unchained, the earth will be razed."


**(A/N: I should have really published this thing earlier. Like, two years ago earlier. Maybe even three.**

**Anyways, this is a crossover with a lot of things. And I mean a LOT. Doctor Who, Maximum Ride, Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, Danny Phantom, and whatever else just happens to show up. Except most likely Elmo.**

**Dedicated to:**

**The One Who Kept Her Powers [my co-writer], the best friend anyone could ever have; You rock, Lilly!**

**The Sorcerer's Apprentice; Sir Blanning, you're a bull-headed soul some days, but I love you, Beautiful.**

**Nikolai Lykos, the most loyal soldier who has ever fought. Jolly Old St. Nick, you deserve a Medal of Honor.**

**And last, but not least: anyone willing to read what I pour onto these pages.**

**Disclaimer: Contains many OC's and lots of mature topics, so do not read if you are below 12 years of age or an idiot. [Results may vary] If this offends you in any way, 1] I don't care and 2] please go read "My Immortal" and then come back.**

**-The Onyx Dragon)**

* * *

><p>There's not much time to explain, but I'll give you the basics. My name is Terrence. I'm a genetic experiment created by the most inhumane scientists in the world, and it's their fault most of everyone human hates me. It's their fault my best friend, Lilly and I had to live on the streets. It's their fault we almost got kicked out of Hogwarts. Well, that was partly my fault...<p>

Whatever. My point? My past SUCKED. Oh, you don't believe me? You think I'm playing the Elementary School Blame Game here!? No, buddy. I'm not. I'll tell you how all this Styx went down.

It was summertime, ironically. The one time of the year where kids get to have a little bit of fun, playing in parks, jumping through sprinklers, tying your dog to your skateboard before throwing the stick downhill and whatnot. Good old fashioned summertime.

The ironic part? We were in the middle of a war zone. Yeah. A freaking _war zone_. Iraq? Nope. I was rolling in clovers, not debris. Somewhere in Africa? Nope. The majority of the population doesn't have AIDS, no offense. World War Two Germany? No. I'm not German or Jewish, as far as I know: Italian, Greek, British, and American, yes, but not German.

We were in Englan_d. England?! The place with bankers and scones and funny accents and the Beatles and danisnotonfire!?_ Yeah! Do you happen to know another England by any chance, Sherlock? To be more specific it was 1969 Gryphonheart Lane, Godric's Hollow, England.

If you know anything about something, you'd know that Godric's Hollow was a small community for Wizarding families to stay, safe from Muggles a.k.a. regular mundane mortal human beings. If you know anything more about a _different_ something, you'd also know that Godric's Hollow is also the recruitment place for English demigods. So the hollow of Godric Gryffindor was not just a place for wizards to roost, but also a haven for heroes.

Which is probably the reason that Voldemort (I'm one of the few wizards alive whom are not afraid to say his name aloud; probably the _only_ to tackle him to the ground) decided to attack there next. Besides the fact that Peter Pettigrew is a fat, sycophantic snitch.

It happened at sunset. I was at the park with my best friend Lilly and her family, the Potters. I was pushing Lilly on the swing, and her reddish brown hair flew behind her in a long trail. The purple clover flowers she let me put in her hair earlier began to fall out. Mrs. Potter's one year old twin boys, Danny and Harry, sat on the seesaw, warbling like babies do, trying to kick their tiny feet off of the ground.

The only thing not perfect that evening was the grim expression that the clouds, Mr. James and Lilly's uncle, Sirius, wore. The clouds were dark grey, Mr. James's brown eyes looked off into the distance, and Sirius's moustache curled like his frown. I tried not to notice, and attempted to focus on Lilly's laugh as I pushed her. My ADHD wouldn't let me. My attention went to everything: the small little ant crawling at my shoe, Mrs. Potter rocking a sleeping Danny, the wind blowing through my brown hair, the last flower falling our of Lilly's hair & the way Sirius shuffled uneasily.

"Terrence."

The sound of Mr. James's voice cut through the air like a knife. I turned to him, and two pairs of brown eyes interlocked.

(Unlike Lilly, I knew what was going on. My parents were demigods that were sent overseas because the centaurs had asked for help on behalf of Dumbledore, and Chiron had let my family, the Everhearts, move out from Georgia to the U.K. And well, I was already staring my second year at Hogwarts. Word gets around in the Wizarding world.)

Mr. James and I could read each other. I knew what was coming. So did he. "You may go home."

Those were the last words he said to me that night, and for the rest of my days.

(The more I think about it, the more I realize a few things. Mr. James said you _MAY_ go, not you _WILL_, or even you _HAVE TO_ go. What did he mean by may? Was it simply granting me permission, or did he mean something behind it? Maybe I could have _stayed?_ I don't think I'll ever find out until I get the chance to ask him...)

I nodded back to him like the innocent kid I was, before sprinting off down the road to my house.

I don't think I've ever ran that fast in my life. I practically flew over the pavement as the rain began to shoot down from the sky like bird shot pellets. Everything turned as slick and wet as a fish in a lake. The air turned a hostile, freezing cold. It was like God himself was intervening, hindering me from getting home; he had a good reason to.

My house was on _fire. _Thick, black billowing plumes of smoke replaced the normally charcoal shingles, and the blue-painted wood was turning to ash before my very eyes. I could taste the vile, bitter bile building in the back of my throat. My parents were in there. I blinked in disbelief, and saw their faces for just a second but as clear as day in my mind. Mom was petrified; her curly brown hair whipped around as wildly as her green eyes looked around, frantically searching for something. Dad's face was frozen in a scream. His brown eyes locked into mine. He was trying to say something just as the flames coiled around his shoulders. Then they were both gone. The image had started to fade.

I wiped my nose, staring at the roof. Why hadn't the rain put it out yet? Was fate really that cruel?

_Don't you dare start crying! Real men don't cry. Stop it! Stop it now! _My body betrayed me. Thick tears began to run down the side of my face. I whimpered quietly. _Wimp. They're gonna run you though with a spear when you get to camp. Heroes don't cry. You're gonna get butchered. You deserve it._

I contorted my face into a snarl. "S-shut up!" I yelled at myself. "Just shut up! Stop thinking for one darn moment, Terrence! Get in there and save Mom and Dad!"

I sprinted into the inferno. The first thing that hit me was the blistering, white-hot heat emanating in the air. I felt like I was cooking alive, but I _had_ to find my parents.

There's something I've kinda been shy to admit, but here it goes: Right then and there, I knew that if my parents died, I would have _no one._ Not even Lilly. I'd just always had this uncanny suspicion that something bad was going to happen to the Potters during the war. Don't misinterpret me; by no means did I want any harm to come to the Potters. It was an odd, 6th sense, "deep down in your gut" feeling that something was going to happen.

I retained that feeling as I stepped into the parlor, smudging soot onto the Persian carpets my grandmother had gotten for her anniversary as a gift. I coughed. My lungs were starting to burn a little bit, but that didn't stop me. I marched up onto the wooden stairs past the hearth. Family pictures and other past memories that once hung on the wall lay on the wood floors, their glass shattered. Heat doesn't usually shatter glass; clumsy hands do. This wasn't an accident; this was arson.

Glancing around the hall, I noticed that other things were off. There were black scorch marks on the wall, as well as deep gashes in the wall had to have been formed by a blade or something. I ran my fingers over it.

Footsteps echoed through the hall, and I swiveled my head to the source of the sound. I quietly stepped over to a closed door and turned the handle.

My grandmother would have said something along the lines of "Curiosity killed the cat." Well, it didn't kill me. It got me plasma blasted through a glass window and onto the front lawn.


End file.
